


Sacrifices Must be Made

by The_Useless_Cucumber



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Bad plot twists, Chapter 1 does have violence, Eventual Romance, It Gets Better, M/M, Multiverse, Sacrifice, Secret Identity, Surgery tools used the wrong way, Two skeletons are gonna kiss and you have to deal with it, Whipping, and other things, such as, surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Useless_Cucumber/pseuds/The_Useless_Cucumber
Summary: The world has worshipped gods for centuries. They walk among mortals and every decade, a tribute must be sacrificed to a god. A list was given and one tribute is to be given to one god each year. What wasn't considered was the fact some gods would be less popular than other's. So when the time comes for the sacrifice for the least popular god, the God of Death and Judgement, no one is volunteering to be tribute. Someone must be chosen.And unfortunately for Error, that honor seems to have fallen on him.





	Sacrifices Must be Made

It had started long ago, far before anyone who currently walked the Earth was born. Generations from times that are only faintly recalled in history started the tradition. Sacrifices were needed to appease whatever gods thought to be watching over them. It wasn’t much. One person every decade, offered to a god. They did have a list to follow, fearing the wrath that could be brought about by simply forgetting to sacrifice to one god. That, of course, caused it’s own list of problems.

Some gods were less popular than others. It was bound to happen. Sacrifices are normally chosen years before the actual ceremony, though there were exceptions. With the gods less ‘loved’ by mortal kind, their tributes were often chosen a month or less beforehand. Last decade was the sacrifice for one of the gods of death. That sacrifice was only chosen a week before. It ended up being one of the commanding officers of the Royal Guard. No one was quite sure as to why the King had agreed to let him be a tribute. All the people knew is that the Guard started to fall apart afterwards. It took most of the passing decade to fix the damage.

In that time, crime had been easy to commit. No one was able put a stop to it. They were too busy trying to fix damage. Maybe that’s what caused him to lose his edge. He had grown too cocky in those years. With the system broken, he was freely able to get away with doing what he wanted to do. By the time he realized he made a mistake in his last spree, it had already been too late. He had already been tackled to the floor, something that caused him no small amount of pain. He was dragged off to the national prison and put in solitary confinement.

He was mostly annoyed at himself, even as he was continuously yelled at to confess his crimes in hopes of sticking him with a longer sentence. As if fifty years wasn’t enough. Of course he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to confess to all the homicide and arson he is at fault for and extend it to a life sentence. How stupid did they think he was?

That’s probably what landed him in his current situation. The next sacrifice was just a mere month away and a tribute had yet to be chosen. Of course no one was chosen. It was the other god of death’s turn. No one wanted to lose a family member to what was probably the least popular god in existence. A criminal, however, everyone would gladly get rid of immediately. Imagine his surprise when he got transferred to a smaller, more local jail as it approached time for the sacrifice. It unfortunately took him a long time to figure out he was meant to be the tribute this time and by the time he found that out, it was already too late.

Error was forcibly dragged out of his cell, magic dampener tight around his neck. It would probably choke him if he actually had a windpipe like people around him. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the hands that grasped at him, making him feel like he was on fire wherever he was touched. He wanted to scream and struggle but he was held still as someone stepped forward and began to cut off his clothing, not caring as they removed everything that shielded him from the view of others. He couldn’t kick out against them as he was being dragged off again as soon he was naked.

The hallway wasn’t well lit and it was difficult to see much farther than five feet in front of him. Or that could just be his incoming blackout. His struggling began to die down as his vision grew more blurred and it became more difficult to breathe. He shook as he was roughly tossed into what he could only assume was a bathtub. He couldn’t see anymore as he struggled to try to pull himself out of the tub. The water was icy, a sharp contrast to the hands that burned as they pushed him back down and began to scrub dirt away with what might as well been steel wool. Error could feel himself start to glitch out as he was overstimulated. He felt trapped, held below the water by people he couldn’t see. No amount of thrashing helped to loosen their grips and Error could only hope for it to be over soon as he lost consciousness.

He hoped that everything would be okay by the time he came to again. However, Error instead found himself tied down to a table in the center of a empty room, a muzzle like contraption holding his jaw shut and with a disturbing lack of clothing on his person. It was lit well enough for him to see, at least. He began to look around for any possible escape route. The only light source seemed to be one hanging lightbulb above him. No windows. The walls were craggy and dripping with what he would like to assume was koolaid or some other sort of red punch. The alternative option left him slightly more terrified than he had been previously. His gaze travelled across the room until it landed on an old looking wooden door. He felt a faint surge of hope at that. It was a way out.

His hope disappeared, however, as the door opened and someone entered, pushing a cart covered in various surgical instruments. The person pushing was a lizard-like monster in what looked like a lab coat. Her yellow scales gleamed in the low light, casting an odd light on her dirty glasses. She looked down at him with an uncaring look as her mouth stretched into a grin he could only describe as mad.

"So you're the poor bastard who gets to die this time around. Lucky you,” she chuckled, reaching over to straighten her instruments. Error felt a chill roll down his spine as her claws paused over scalpel. He felt scared and start to struggled once again as she picked up the small blade with a considering look, “It’s been awhile since I’ve operated on a skeleton, so you’ll have to excuse my work. It’s going to be sloppy than normal. Oh, but what do you care? You don’t get any input. It’s my job to prepare you to die anyway. As long as you live long enough to make it through the sacrifice, I’ve done my job and I get paid.”

She paid no mind to him as he struggled, simply pushing down on his arm to keep it still as she pressed the scalpel to his humerus and began to carve symbols into it, slowly making her way up toward his clavicle. Error grit his teeth, trying harder to pull away and somehow escape his bonds. This only seemed to annoy the lizard woman, who dug her claws into the bony arm she was holding. He tried not to look at what she was doing. The bone marrow bubbling around the runes she carved was enough to make him sick.

"Quit struggling. You’re going to mess up my work and I do not feel like shaving off a few layers of bone to try again. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get to go home, drink myself stupid, and pretend this never happened,” she growled as she completed whatever she carved on his arm and moved around to his other side and began to carve into that side as well.

Error was thankful for the muzzle, in all honesty. It helped to muffle his pained whimpers. He didn't think he would be able to keep quiet otherwise. He just wanted it to be over quickly. He even considered praying to any of the gods, even if he knew they wouldn't care, but the lizard lady seemed to take pleasure in taking her time, going as far as to hum a cheery little tune as she worked. She covered his arms in runes and designs before doing the same thing to his ribs. There was no decipherable pattern to her work. Symbols were repeated but never in the same order. It was dizzying to look at.

He didn’t know how long it took for her to stop. It felt like forever but she eventually pulled the scalpel away. She nodded, looking down at her work, a bloody mess of symbols that spread across his arms and ribs. Error felt dizzy and weakly tugged at his bindings. Something soft brushed against his hand and his hand grasped whatever it was on reflex. The woman, who had been walking away, froze as her lab coat was grabbed. A small fire burned in her eyes as she glared down at him hatefully.

“Let go. Now,” her voice was low, threatening, but her words didn't process. He must not have reacted fast enough for her liking, as a dark look overtook her features. She pulled her coat out of his grip harshly and turned back to her cart, mumbling, “If slime like you refuses to keep your hands to yourself, then I'll make you.”

Error didn’t have the energy anymore to be concerned. He just blinked at her groggily as she rummaged through her cart. He forgot it was even there. It’s not like she had even turned her attention to it the entire time she had been carving. Now, however, she was chuckling as she picked up what she needed. A demented grin stretched across her face as she weighed a surgical mallet in her hand. It wasn’t too big and didn’t seem to heavy, but that didn’t calm Error’s nerves. He knew whatever was coming next wouldn’t be good for him.

He was right, as within a few seconds the lady had swung the mallet down, squarely hitting his metacarpals. The sudden flare of pain had him screaming as best he could with his jaw held tightly shut. She didn’t allow any breaks before bringing the mallet back down over and over again, smashing his phalanges and metacarpals until his faint magic was the only thing holding the pieces together. She then briskly walked to his other side and repeated the process, laughing almost maniacally while doing so. She was enjoying herself as she completely demolished his hands.

It was over within a minute but the pain didn’t go away. His mana lines were out of place and that in and of itself was agonizing. He wished for nothing more than to go numb. Black spots danced in his vision as she carefully put her mallet back on the cart. She was shaking with barely repress laughter as she looked down at him, assessing the damage.

"I forgot how easily bones break without skin or muscles around them. Look at that! Your phalanges are practically shattered!” She laughed again, picking at the pieces with her claws. Oh gods, I’m alone in a room with a crazy ass sadist!

"Dr. Stein! Are you finished with your preparations yet?” A new voice called out as the door opened, flooding the dark room with light. A tall skeleton with two cracks starting at his eye sockets stood in the doorway. He didn’t look pleased as he practically glided over to where the woman, Dr. Stein, was standing.

"O-oh! Yes, Dr. Gaster. All preparations are completed, just as you specified and-”

"Then why, pray tell, is the subject’s hands broken? I do not remember telling you to do that, Dr. Stein.”

“He grabbed me, sir.” Dr. Gaster blinked slowly before turning his gaze toward Error, eyelights cold.

"So he grabbed you and you broke both of his hands?”

“Y-yes, sir…”

“That is a considerable amount of restraint for you. Normally you would kill subjects for that offense. I’ll allow it this time. Now, let’s take our leave. We’re do back at the capital.” He didn’t spare Error another glance as he turned around and began to walk away.

"Yes, sir,” Dr. Stein smirked down at him before pushing her cart out of the room, the door loudly slamming behind her, leaving Error blessedly alone. Granted, he had no idea how long he would be alone for. It probably wouldn’t be long before someone else came in and tortured him more. He was tired and in pain. He didn’t even try to stop himself as his eye sockets closed. If more people were going to break him, he’d rather be asleep for it.

When Error awoke again, he was in his cell again. Granted, his cell had been cleaned sometime after he had been dragged out. He almost missed all the dirt and dried blood that he had grow used to. The cleanliness of the cell only weirded him out now. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t like it.

He sat up, wincing as his skull pounded and his vision swam. He felt like he was hungover and had slammed his head against the wall repeatedly at some point in the middle of the night. He sat still, waiting until the dizzy feeling went away and the pounding in his skull dulled down. It didn’t help much. His chest ached and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and die but he forced himself to look down at the damage that that psychopath caused. Something made grossly easy by the fact no one so much as bothered to dress him again before putting him back in his cell.

Error tried not to gag at the symbols intricately carved into his chest. He didn’t know what any of them meant. He subconsciously moved his hands, the only part of his body that seemed to be bandaged, to his chest, feeling the obvious dips where parts of the bone had been damaged. They were deep and Error knew instantly that the markings were not going to heal properly. It was going to scar and that made him uncomfortable and wishing he had anything to shave off layers of bone until there was no reminder of anyone touching him. But he lacked the tools and had to be content with picking at the carvings in a vain attempt to chip. It didn’t help.

“Stop doing that,” a voice called, startling Error out of what he was doing, “If you damage yourself, we’ll have to call Dr. Stein back to repair her work and that will be the last thing you will want us to do. Trust me.” Error looked to the door of the cell, where a tall, blue fish woman stood. Her long, bright red hair was messy and despite the fact it was up in a ponytail, it was still long enough to fall down to her hips. The left side of her face was heavily scarred and she wore an eyepatch with the inverted outline of a heart on it like some sort of knockoff pirate. She wore black skinny jeans and a black and red crop top that looked like it used to be a shirt until someone took a knife to it. All in all, she looked like some kid’s bad deviantart oc.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“The name’s Tamaki. Not that that really matters. It's not like we’ll get a chance to talk to each other after today,” her voice was rough, like she had spent all day yelling at people. She didn't look at him, sparing his naked form at least one ounce of decency. Then again, she had apparently been watching him so he wasn't about to trust her.

“What sort of weeb fucking names their kid Tamaki?”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, your name is literally Error!”

“I’ll have you know I picked out this name myself, fishbitch! So keep your weeby criticism to yourself,” he tried to sound annoyed but that only served to make her laugh. But he still saw a flicker of something else in her expression. Something similar to pain. He didn't question it. Her issues are not his problem.

“All ‘jokes’ aside, why are you here and what the hell do you want?” Instantaneously, her expression changed into something more serious. Strained.

“It's my turn to prep you. Well, more like I have to debrief you. To help ease your anxieties for what is going to happen to you. Understand so far?” If she was trying to sound positive, she was doing an abysmal job.

“I mean, sure. Maybe you could explain to me why the hell you let a psychotic bitch carve bullshit symbols into me and break my goddamn hands with a fucking mallet!” At least she had the audacity to flinch at that. At least she had the audacity to look ashamed. He was in pain and downright furious. And he had every damn right to be.

“Stein isn't psychotic. Well, at least not most of the time… She's just been under a lot of stress recently and-”

“Under stress? Under stress?! Being under stress doesn't justify breaking my fucking hands! That doesn’t seem like a hard concept to grasp!”

Tamaki sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, just listening to him yell. She was clearly annoyed.

“I didn’t say it justified it. It just helps to explain it. She under a lot of stress and you did something that caused her to lash out and lose control of her LOVE. Understand? Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t do shit like that but whatever! It’s not like you’re expected to live much longer anyway! So quit flipping your shit!”

"I’m not flipping my- wait what?”

“You’re going to be sacrificed, dumbass. You’re probably not gonna live, to put it bluntly. But whatever! You’re just a criminal so who cares! You’re going to be sacrificed any you’ll probably die and that will be the end of our problems for the next ten years.” Her smile looked incredibly forced and her voice was strained. Error didn’t feel any pity for her, however. He was mostly just pissed.

"I don’t fucking think so! I didn’t agree to be a goddamn sacrifice and I’m not just gonna roll over and let you sacrifice me to appease some god just because you’re out of time!”

“Well you don’t have a choice. You’ve been out for almost a week and the sacrifice is literally supposed to take in a few hours. We don’t have time to pick someone else. We barely have enough time to make sure you’re ready,” She straightened her spine, standing tall. Error didn’t doubt that she towarded at least a foot over him. The heels certainly didn’t help, “That being said, you can either willingly come with me or I will be forced to drag you to our destination. Your choice.”

Error hesitated. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to. But still, he forced himself to stand up. The movement caused pain. He was so sore and it felt like someone took a hammer to his skull and yet he still stood and hobbled over to the cell door, ignoring his pain. It would probably only get worse from here. That much he new.

Error fought as he was dragged kicking and screaming to a large stone altar in the town center. The rock before him had been decorated with swirling patterns that bordered around runes he could faintly recognize as some of the ones now carved into his chest. He felt sick when he saw a wood post that stood menacingly at the center. Shackles were on opposite sides of the post, the metal and wood stained a dark shade of red. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be anywhere other than here.

His voice was already growing hoarse as his mangled hands were shackled to the post. He pleaded with the people in dark cloaks that hid their faces behind a dark shadow. They merely stared down at him. At any other point in his life, he would have been furious with himself for resorting to begging and pleading but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore. He was in pain, his phalanges and metacarpals twisted and bent in ways that he knew were unnatural. Tears were streaming down his face as he heard the muttering of the cloaked figures. Error didn’t know what they were planning to do to him next but he knew that whatever it was, it would only end with him being in more pain than he already was.

One of the people brought forth a long, black box with a silver latch. There was no details or pattern to make the box itself special but he knew better than to find comfort in that. It only caused him more worry. Another person, a red sash setting him apart from the rest, most likely the leader, opened the box and pulled out something that made Error’s soul grow cold. A Cat o’ Nine Tails. Shards of metal glistened at the end of each tail, holding a promise of blood and pain. The leader bounced it in his hand a few times, adjusting to the weight of the leather, before nodding and turning away from him to address the crowd that had no doubt gathered to watch.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Now, I’m sure most of you don’t really want to be here to watch this. However, we must appease our gods and to do that, these deeds must be viewed by the public. It is not a route we wish to take-” That is complete bullshit “-but it is for the good of the people. If any of you have an aversion toward violence, I suggest you look away. Now, let the sacrifice to our god of death and judgement begin! May the reaper have mercy on our souls!”

“Mercy!” The crowd had chanted back, sounding far too cheerful considering the events about to transpire. Error flinched as a hand stroked the back of his skull. He hadn’t even noticed that the leader had walked right up to him.

“As for you, if you scream nice a pretty for me, I might decide to go easy on you,” Error tried not to gag at that as the man stroked down his spine before backing away. He wasn’t going to scream. He wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction. Still, he could help but to tense as the sound of footsteps stopped. He knew what was coming but that still didn’t prepare him for the sudden pain as strips of leather and shrapnel were brought down harshly on his back. He barely managed to hold back the scream of pain that threatened to make itself heard.

The crowd let out another cheer of “Mercy!” as Error inhaled shakily and his eye sockets watered. There was a brief pause, as if the man was deciding where he wanted to hit next. He was most likely mad Error didn't listen to him but Error didn’t care. He needed to remain strong. He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as the whip was once again brought down, this time hitting squarely on his sacrum. The sound of the crack of the whip was shortly followed by another cheer of “Mercy!”

He choked on breath he knew he didn’t need as he shook. There was a shorter break this time before the whip struck him again, hitting one femur, then the next in quick succession. Error let out a broken gasp, tears spilling over. His vision was starting to blot out with each strike of the whip and each cry of mercy. He no longer focused on keeping quiet and instead he tried to stay conscious, a task in and of itself. He could feel himself start to black out as his legs gave out. He was kept semi propped up simply because of the whipping post he was shackled to. He didn’t have the energy to try to right himself. Even if he did, the lashings only began to pick up speed more. Error felt himself grow numb and the world around him grew silent. In his flickering vision, he saw a skeleton dressed in black robes that seemed to flow almost gracefully in a non-existent wind. The perfect visage of death. The Reaper.

_Maybe he was finally dead…_


End file.
